Relativity
by Saucery
Summary: Spock thinks they're working. Kirk thinks they're flirting. Please note that this is a sequel to "By Any Other Name" and "Camouflage," both of which can be found in my profile.


**RELATIVITY**

A sequel to _By Any Other Name_ and _Camouflage_.

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><p>They were on surveillance in the basement, monitoring footage from the three hundred and fifty-four cameras scattered across the city, which was about as boring as the night-shift could possibly get. It <em>sucked<em> that Bones and Chekov were doing the patrols tonight, while Uhura was out infiltrating the lesbian mafia.

Jim liked to _call_ it the lesbian mafia, anyway, because that brought up some _really_ nice imagery, and Gaila, the Corleone boss, did have this interesting habit of wearing zoot suits and slow-dancing with her hands up Uhura's skirt. Damn it, where _was_ that reel of the Flamingo Club? Uhura was supposed to be there tonight, wasn't she?

"Jim," said Spock, interrupting Jim's frantic channel-surfing, "might I remind you that Nightingale has strictly prohibited you from watching tonight's operation?"

"What?" Jim's fingers spasmed on the keys. "I mean. Um. Why're you mentioning that?"

"You are localizing our otherwise random surveillance. Six out of the last twenty-eight reels have been located within one block of the Flamingo Club, whereas on a genuinely randomized search, the probability of such a sequence occurring would be markedly lower, at two to three out of - "

"Okay, okay, you got me." Jim threw up his hands. "Jesus. Can't catch a _break_ around here..."

"I suggest that you occupy your time with the task at hand. It would be a disservice to the community if we varied from our standard protocol and thus failed to detect a crime in progress."

"You and your standard protocol," Jim muttered, but Spock only _looked_ at him, and Jim sighed. "Yeah, you're right," he said, and ruffled his hair. "Shit. Sorry. But don't you _ever_ get bored?"

"There is a logical, meaningful and strategically crucial task to be performed." Spock sat in his chair patiently, in a meditative pose, with his fingertips pressed together and his eyes scanning quickly across the screens. He looked kind of sexy like that, actually, all calm and focused._Capable_. "I have no opportunity for boredom."

"Great," Jim snorted, not letting on that his own gaze was lingering on the tendons of Spock's hands. "As for me, I _am_ the door that opportunity's knocking. _Twice._ Every _second_."

Spock inclined his head, never looking away from the screens. "You are misquoting an ancient Earth idiom."

"It's called sarcasm, buddy." There was a tracery of delicate green at Spock's inner wrists; they'd look _very_ good in silk, those wrists. "Creative use of language, you know?"

"You certainly are creative," Spock deadpanned, in his blandest tone.

Jim grinned. "Oh, you have _no_ idea what I could do with a clever verb and a silk rope."

"I was not aware that 'rope' was a grammatical term."

"It is when your grammar's _horizontal_, baby."

There was a brief silence, in which Jim could practically _hear_ Spock's brain clicking through the step-by-step process of categorizing the words 'baby' and 'horizontal' in a relevant colloquial context. Jesus. Was that what Spock's mind _sounded_ like, all the time?

"Jim," said Spock, eventually, "if you are attempting to engage me in - in - "

"Flirtation? Seduction?" Jim got up and _stretched_.

"Kindly desist. We are at work."

"So it'd be okay if we _weren't_ at work?"

"Jim." A deeper texture to that voice, now; Jim shivered.

"Hm?" Jim was still standing, and probably prolonging his stretches longer than he absolutely _had_ to, but from this angle, it looked like Spock's fingers were pressed just a _little_ harder against each other.

"Desist."

"I will, if you look away from the screens."

"What purpose will that serve?"

"I want to see your eyes."

"That is an illogical request."

"You _make_ me illogical."

"You are perennially illogical. And this conversation has no point. Desist. Return to your work."

Spock could hide anything else, but he _couldn't_ hide the fact that he'd missed a few reels; his sincerity compelled him to go back and _replay_them, which, yeah. Was a compliment.

"Oh, all right, then." Jim let his left hand drift closer, as he uncurled his arm from his stretch, and it brushed Spock's nape.

Spock _froze_.

"Work, huh?" Jim's thumb traced a line up to Spock's ear, all the way to the tip. "I can work. I can work real _hard_." He thought - very visually and_powerfully_ - about just how hard he could work his hips, and just how _slow_, when he wanted to tease. When he wanted to _ride_. He thought about how it would make Spock _buck_, desperate and sweat-slick, his hands - his strong, Vulcan hands - bruising Jim's hips.

Spock had… possibly stopped breathing. His eyes, still on the screens, were wide and unseeing. Unfocused and _blown_, and -

Jim stepped away. "The city won't protect itself, right? I _get_ what you're saying." He slunk back into his seat, and smiled, and heard the arms of Spock's chair _creak_ when Spock gripped them.

Score. All he had to do was to keep this up, for another month or two, and Spock would be _his_.

No questions asked.

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><p><strong>fin.<strong>

(I am, however, planning a sequel.)  
>Please review!<p> 


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